The Secondhand Brick
by singingstarryknights
Summary: [HIATUS] She might as well have been a mason she had a talent for building walls. GregSara. Five part WIP.
1. Chapter 1

The Secondhand Brick

…

She might as well have been a mason; she had a talent for building walls.

…

Greg Sanders didn't bother knocking on Sara's door; he simply pushed in the key and turned it with a soft click in the lock. He didn't spot her in the cozy little living room, but noticed her jacket tossed haphazardly over her couch, her keys on the table, and her shoes neatly by the door. She was here somewhere, and she needed him, even if she didn't know it. Nick had called him twenty minutes ago, weary of the cold shoulder he was getting from her. He knew that it was close to the end of shift when Sara's cell phone had rang, and he hadn't seen her since then.

Nick had explained that she hadn't responded to him, but that the call had come from the San Francisco Women's Penitentiary. Greg had told the older man that he would take care of it, and had hung up before scrambling into his making his way to Sara's apartment building.

Living room, no. Kitchen, no. He made his way to the bedroom at the end of the hall, cracking open the door only just, letting out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, relived to have finally found her. She had curled up under the comforter, her wild curls sprawling across the pillow, a box of tissues beside her, a few crumpled up used ones scattered along the floor near her bed. Greg frowned, worried, and opened the door wider to slip inside the room, closing the door again behind him.

"Go _away_, Nick. I told you I was fine." Sara didn't even look up from her nest of bedding, and he smiled softly at her assumption that he was Nick. He stood with his knees against the foot of her mattress, shoving his hands into his pockets casually.

"Good thing I'm not Nick, then." He watched the bump under the comforter roll over quickly, and almost instantly she sat up, and he got his first look at her, unruly curls cascading gently around her tear stained cheeks, eyes red from crying.

It was right then that he decided that uninhibited, emotional Sara was his favorite side of Sara.

"What are you doing here, Gregory?" she sighed, holding back a gentle sob, and wiped at her eyes roughly, failing in removing the moisture from her cheeks, and he found himself amused at the childish gesture that was so unlike her.

"You don't look fine to me, Sara."

"Nick called you, didn't he?" She bit her lip, and rolled over, disappearing from his sight as she lay back down against the pillows again.

"He said you wouldn't let him in." She sniffled loudly, causing him to smile.

"He'd want to talk about it, and I don't want to talk about it."

"He's really worried, Sara."

"He'll get over it."

"You're being really mean to him." Greg shifted his weight, and Sara let out a short laugh, rolling onto her back and propping herself up on her elbows to face him.

"So you're the delegate here on behalf of his feelings, Greg?"

"No, I'm here because he said the call was from Frisco, and based on the manner with which he mentioned it I'm thinking he has no idea what that means. I wanted to make sure you were okay." He flashed her a gentle smile, and she rolled her eyes, laying back down. "Are you okay?"

"Oh, _I'm_ fine, yeah." She wiped at her eyes again childishly, laughing sadly to herself. She didn't turn to him as she heard him kick off his shoes and felt the bed dip slightly under his weight as he slipped in beside her. She made no motion to resist him, and he slid his hands around her middle, pulling her against him, and pressing a gentle kiss to her shoulder. She groaned, closing her eyes as he kissed her neck, willing the tears away.

"What happened, love?" His voice was barely above a whisper, gentle and soft, warm against the thin fabric of the tee shirt she was wearing. "Talk to me, Sara." He ran his fingers soothingly just under the hem of the tee shirt, and he felt her instantly relax under his touch, the tension leaving her body so fast she almost appeared deflated.

He had done it again.

He could always do this to her.

She didn't have to think with Greg. She could just exist. He knew that. She loved Nick, really, really loved him. But she couldn't bear to weigh down his shoulders with her shoeboxes of secrets meticulously packed away. Greg, however, Greg could keep her secrets. Greg was her best friend. She rolled onto her back beside him, and his fingers grazed along her stomach, curling around the far side of her hip, the rough pad of his thumb rubbing the soft skin of her side gently, stroking her side in a casual manner that lulled her heart rate back to normal, calming her down slowly. His expression remained compassionate, concerned; and Sara rolled over, pushing him down onto his back, and curled up to his side, listening to his steady heartbeat beneath her ear, taking comfort in the lazy strokes of his fingers through her curls.

"My mother died." Her voice quivered slightly, and she balled the front of his shirt up in her fist. He hugged her tightly, and pressed a kiss to her head.

"I'm so sorry, Sara." She shook her head dismissively, wiping her tears on his shirt.

"Don't be. I don't know why I'm so upset. It's not like I've talked to her or seen her since I went out to Frisco that last time." Greg furrowed his brow in concern. The last time Sara had gone to San Francisco was at least four or five years ago. If he hadn't seen his mother in five years, he'd be going mad, itching to be on the next plane to Brooklyn. He continued to stroke her curls soothingly, supposing that was why he and Sara were so different.

"It's okay to be upset, Sara, she was your mother." He dropped a chaste kiss to her hair, and tilted his head to catch her eye. "Did your brother call?"

"Uh, no. He um. He doesn't want anything to do with it. The prison said they tried to contact him first, because he's closer, but he told the to just call me and hung up on them, and when I called him, his useless wife answered the phone, and told me they didn't want whatever it was I was selling, and hung up."

"Bastard. So what's your plan?" He shifted slightly, allowing her knee to wander between his thighs, running his fingers along her arm, draped possessively over his abdomen.

"I have to claim the body. I'm going to tell Grissom after shift, then take a few vacation days. Put her affairs in order, have a liberating, fantastically satisfying argument with my stupid brother, and be back by next Friday."

"Let me come with you." He offered even before he thought about it, but even as the words left his mouth, he was okay with it. She needed a friend, she needed support, and she obviously didn't want to explain it to anyone, or go it alone. Understandable. She hadn't let anyone into her apartment, never mind into her bed, since getting the call, and Greg couldn't help but think that maybe he was here, holding her against him, soothing her fears, because she wanted him. Needed him. Maybe he just needed her.

Truthfully, he never stopped loving her, loving her still even after the past few months of keeping his hands and his bed to himself. She broke his heart more than anything, even now, all he wanted to do was take her, claim her again, show her what love could mean, what family could be. He had missed his chance, though, and that was it. They had grown apart after Nick's ordeal, and while Walter Gordon had a carpe diem effect on Warrick, Greg and Sara had dealt with the aftermath of Nick's kidnapping reversely, stepping away form each other, freighted, on some level, that they would be next, and their emotional involvement would hinder them down the road. Well, that's what Sara had said. Greg had wanted to hold her closer, never let her go.

She sat up, pulling out of his grip, and sliding off the side of the bed, and coming to stand beside the other side of the bed. He frowned, his body missing the heat of hers, and he sat up as well, bringing his knees up and resting his elbows across them, watching her get dressed.

"You don't mean that. You don't want to get involved in my well, my lack of family."

"You need a friend."

"I don't want to burden anyone with my stupid family."

"What are you so afraid of, Sara?"

"I'm not afraid of anything." She pulled his old Stanford tee shirt off her frame and turned to her closet, pulling an oxford shirt of it's hanger and thrusting her arms through the sleeves, turning back to him as she buttoned up the front, giving him a glance of the skin of her chest and abdomen without thinking.

"D'you think I'll love you any less?" She paused, fingers on the button that would hold in her breasts, and met his gaze. "You are the world to me, Sar, I'm not going to stop loving you because your family is nuts."

"I don't want you to see it."

"Why?"

"Because the last time you told me you loved me for who I am, it was in the middle of a conversation about whether or not to put blueberries or chocolate chips in the damn pancakes, and you meant that you'd love me even if I wanted fruit in my breakfast, but I can't help but think that this woman who was my mother, this man who was my brother, they are my family, they are a part of who I am, what they put me through, that is a part of me as well, and how could you possibly love that? No one loves that."

"You haven't given me a chance."

"I don't want to deal with it anymore, Greg, I don't want to think about it anymore, and as soon as you meet my worthless brother you're going to want to know why he's so worthless, and then I'll have to talk about it and I don't want to talk about it, I just want it to go away."

"Family doesn't go away, Sara."

"Mine should." She bent, finding the shoes she was looking for and shoving her feet into them.

"Don't shut me out, Sara."

"I'm not."

"That's _bullshit_, and you know it." He sighed, rubbing his hand over his face wearily. "For once in your life, let someone help you. You don't have to shoulder everything all the time all by yourself."

"It's not your problem, Greg."

"No, it is. I love you Sara. I love you so much. I still roll over in my sleep, still wake up expecting to find you beside me. I said I loved you for who you are and I meant it. I mean it still. Let me in Sara. Stop building walls where there should be fields."

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Somewhere along Highway 99, Greg realized he couldn't keep living without Sara. How he had gotten her to agree to let him come with her, he would never know, but here they were, at the literal halfway point between the rock that is their estranged, polluted, complicated, mess of a lack of relationship, and the hard place Sara used to call home.

He glanced at her, sitting in the passenger seat, map spread across her lap, attention on the Californian landscape. He let his peripheral gaze wander along the length of her legs, up on the dashboard, her bare feet out the window, framing his view of the mirror. Her whole body was slouched, relaxed and still, her head cradled in her hand propped up on her elbow on the center console. She always looked so peaceful when she was asleep.

Greg turned his attention back to the highway, running a hand through his disorderly curls. They had roughly three hundred miles to go before the San Francisco limits, and his goal of getting her to fall back in love with him by the time they reached the state line had failed miserably. Not that he had expected it to work in the first place. They had become so focused on making sure Nick made a safe and healthy recovery that they had let their love, their life together, skid away from them like an oil leak in a beat up old truck; steady, less than slow, and ultimately paralyzing.

He sighed, picking up the to go cup from the holder by the shifter, and took a long, slow sip of black coffee, wincing as the bitter liquid singed his tongue. The radio station fizzled into static, and Greg shot Sara a glance to make sure she was still sleeping before slipping some burned CD into the player.

"_This is where I say I've had enough_

_And no one should ever feel the way that I feel now._

_A walking open wound, _

_a trophy display of bruises_

_And I don't believe that I'm getting any better._

_Any better."_

He frowned, hitting the track button to skip the song. Smiling faintly at the trumpeted introduction to the next song, he didn't wait for Paul McCartney to start chanting about love being all you needed before he pressed the skip button again. He let the vamp of the next song on the CD go, vaguely recognizing it as one of Sara's favorites.

"_Life, it's ever so strange_

_It's so full of change_

_Think that you've worked it out _

_then BANG_

_Right out of the blue_

_Something happens to you_

_To throw you off course_

_and then you-"_

He pressed the button again, not wanting to dwell on the memories that had been choreographed to that particular melody, fearing on some level they might fuel his ridiculous hope of resurrecting the shattered remains of whatever they had into something that resembled domestic contentment. He swallowed a chuckle as he recognized the next song on the CD by Billy Joel's signature piano work.

"_A bottle of white, a bottle of red_

_Perhaps a bottle of rose instead_

_We'll get a table near the street_

_In our old familiar place_

_You and I--face to face _

_A bottle of red, a bottle of white-"_

He groaned, not wanting to listen to a song about how a perfect relationship had fallen apart over stupid details. He had had enough of that in real life. He tapped the skip button yet again; hoping that number four would be tolerable. The organ chords accompanied by the guitar riffs were catchy, and he drummed his fingers on the arch of the steering wheel.

"_Days swiftly come and go_

_I'm dreaming of her_

_She's seeing other guys_

_Emotions they stir_

_The sun is gone_

_The nights are long_

_And I am left while the tears fall"_

All American Rejects. Maybe he was one of them. He was definitely a reject. She had made that perfectly clear. Another glance over at her sleeping form, and he found himself battling the urge to cry. Lamenting over what they had once had was not going to solve their problems now, or help Sara through her projected itinerary once they reached San Francisco. That was all she needed, a dead mother, a pissed off brother, and a wad of Kleenex for an ex-boyfriend. Ex-fiancé. He was determined not to drag around that baggage, however. For that, they would've needed a U-Haul.

"_Did you think that I would cry_

_On the phone?_

_Do you know what it feels like_

_Being alone?_

_I'll find someone new"_

She shifted, pulling in her feet from the window and propping them up instead on the dashboard. He reached for his coffee again, watching her out of the corner of his eye, slowly wake up, and run her hand through her curls, pushing them away from her face. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes, and threw him a gentle smile before folding up the map.

He always loved it when she woke up. In their other life, Sara would wake up before him almost always, so any chance he got to witness her returning to consciousness was a sacred gift. Usually, she would roll over on top of him, and wake him up with a steam of kisses, letting her hands slide over his body as he twisted away from her affectionate assaults. But that life had died, a year ago tomorrow, when they had pulled Nick out of the box. He had gone three hundred and sixty four days without her, and he longed for the feel of her skin, the sound of her laugh, her passion that had been systematically hidden from him since the moment the dust settled around Nick's convulsing body.

Maybe it had been sympathy, concern. Maybe it had been that silent understanding that Sara and Nick had, that the first sentence out of his mouth after being worked through at the hospital had been an inquiry for her. Their life together had died in that moment, and while she had resurrected, had moved on, he, well, he was still scraping around in the ashes. It wasn't that she dumped him for Nick, nothing with Sara would ever be that cut and dry. No, she had pushed him out of her life, out of their life, out of her apartment, out of her bed, out of her heart. Maybe she thought that he was next to be abducted, next to be left for dead, next to be shot at a crime scene. Maybe she figured she couldn't afford to let her emotions hinder her work like they did with Nick. Maybe it was a general growing of apathy towards him. Maybe she really did love Nick. Whatever it was, it killed their life, their love, and with it, a piece of him. All of him.

He'd spent the last three hundred and sixty four days pretending not to feel, not to love, not to be affected by her and how she had thrown him out of her life. And he had spent three hundred and sixty four days sitting on her proverbial stoop, waiting to be let back in.

"_Swing, swing, swing _

_From the tangles of_

_My heart is crushed by a former love_

_Can you help me find a way_

_To carry on again?"_

Sara recognized the song, and sat up, hitting the power button on the radio, hard. She threw him an exasperated look, to which he just rolled his eyes. Apparently the subtle message thing hadn't been so subtle. So be fair, though, it was her CD.

"Speak your mind, Greg." Her tone was sharp, and he already had a sense of where this was going.

"I wasn't thinking anything." He propped his elbow up on his door, and rubbed his temple, already tired of her anger. All the months he had wanted to have this conversation, and here she was, trapped in the car he was driving, starting it. At this rate they weren't going to be speaking to each other by the time they got to San Francisco.

"What's that then?" She pointed at the radio, as if his CD selection was proof enough. "Like you aren't trying to tell me how you feel."

" It's just a song, Sara. It's just a CD."

"You made me that CD."

"And you never took it out of the car. Fair game."

"I don't want to get into this, Greg."

"There's nothing to get into."

"Fine."

"Fine."

"Okay."

"Fantastic."

"Brilliant."

"_Wonderful_."

"Sarcastic!" She sat back up again, but her accusation just made him laugh. "Greg!" She smacked his arm, and he gripped the wheel tighter.

"Jesus Sara, I'm driving."

"Pull over."

"What?"

"Pull over."

"No."

"I knew this was a bad idea." She sat back, pushing her hair away from her face, and throwing her feet back up on the dashboard. He frowned at her, but silently switched lanes, and slowed to a stop in the breakdown lane a few moments later. He hadn't even turned off the engine, and she had thrust open her door, and climbed out. He let out a sigh as she slammed the car door behind her, flinching at the sudden movement. He recognized her temper, the one that flared after abusive husbands, reared its head after hours of frustration. He swung open his door, and leaned on the roof of the car, watching her walk back down the way they had come. He let her go several steps before calling after her.

"It's over two hundred miles back to Nevada, Sara."

"Well I have two hundred miles until thumbing a ride becomes illegal, then." She called over her shoulder and he groaned. She was so damn stubborn.

"I don't have to tell you how dangerous this is, Sara."

"And I don't have to tell you California ruled hitchhiking as only contributing marginally to crimes along freeways."

"In 1974, Sara. Good God, I wasn't even born yet. Get in the fucking car." He slammed his own door, pocketing the keys. "What the hell are you trying to prove?"

"I don't want to deal with my mother, I don't want to talk to my brother, and I don't want to be anywhere near you." Sara stopped walking, and turned to square off with him. "I won't feel bad for being happy, Greg. I'm not going to let you guilt trip me. You can't do this." He shoved his hands in his pockets, waiting for her to finish her rant.

"There's lunacy, then there's the nonsense coming out of your mouth. Are you listening to yourself? Come back to the car." He couldn't help but feel relieved as she doubled back towards him, even though he realized she was on a warpath. "Sara-"

"Don't you start with me. I was going to be fine. I was fine. I was happy, and that woman. That woman ruined my life."

"You can't help people dying, Sara, that's part of life."

"Don't even defend her." He tried to stand his ground with her, but she pushed him back, and back again, and he let her, until his back hit the trunk of her car. "Why can't you let me be happy? I love him. He needs me. And my mother. God, my mother. She's ruining my life and she's not even breathing." His heart broke along with her resolve, and he watched as she let the tears roll down her cheeks. "She's the reason I my brother doesn't speak to me, she's the reason I got bounced around in eleven foster homes before going to Boston, she's been sitting in that damn cell for decades, and I was glad. I wanted her there. I loved my father, and she killed him. I watched her. I hate her. I hate San Francisco. I hate this freeway. I hate California."

"Sara-"

"No. You know what? I'm done. Give me the keys. We're going back to Nevada." She stuck out her hand, but he shook his head. Hell no was he getting into a car with her behind the wheel.

"Sara-"

"Greg, don't be an ass." She made a move for the keys in his pocket, but he blocked her, grabbing her wrist. "Stop, Greg. I've got more training." She struggled against him, fighting to pull away from him, but he held fast, giving her a weary look.

"And you know I have more muscles. Get in the car. We're going to Frisco." His tone was even, soothing, and it only made her cry more. She took one last desperate swipe at him, and he caught her hand easily, holding her as her knees gave way and she collapsed in tears against him, on the side of the freeway. Greg held her tightly, closing his eyes and concentrating on keeping her against him, and out of the speeding traffic as she cried into his shoulder. He relaxed against the trunk of the car, dropping a soft kiss to her hair, running his hand along the length of her back, alleviating the tension between her shoulders.

"It's okay, Sara. Everything will be fine. I've got you. I won't let anything happen to you. It's going to be okay." His words were soft, comforting to her as she broke down, letting out her grief into the soft, worn cotton of his tee shirt.

After a few minutes, she pulled away from him, wiping at her eyes roughly, in an attempt to push the tears away from her features. He loosened his grip on her, giving her a concerned look that he might as well get patented; he was giving it to her so often as of late. She offered him an apologetic halfhearted smile, and brush past him to the passenger side door, pulling it open.

"The sooner we go the sooner we can come back." She spoke quietly, and he nodded, relieved that she had pulled herself together enough to get into the car like a reasonable human being. He let out a breath, tilting his head back and closing his eyes, drained emotionally from dealing with her. No, caring about her. Sara was a handful, in all walks of life. He knew that, though, he had wanted to marry the fireball in the front seat, once upon a time. Wanted to marry her still. As he sat back down in the driver's seat, and glanced over at Sara's stoic form beside him, he felt his heart drop as she put another brick in place, building the wall around her heart that much higher.

No, it wasn't caring about her that wore him out. It was loving her.

He would always love her.

He ejected the homemade CD from the player after turning over the engine, and held it out to her. She snatched it out of his grasp, brushing her fingers against his briefly, and tossed it in the glove compartment before finding the Giants-Cardinals game on the radio. Baseball. Neither of them liked it very much. At least they could agree on something. He didn't bother risking looking over at her, just glanced behind him, and pulled out onto the freeway, melting into traffic.

Goddamn bricks.


	3. Chapter 3

Part 3

………

"That's her." Sara frowned at the body of the older woman on the slab in the San Francisco Medical Examiner's office.

"We have her identified as Laura Sorayalie Sidle, 63, Block 87, San Francisco Penitentiary." The Medical Examiner glanced at Sara before pu.lling the shroud gently back over the body, and sliding it back into the cooler, clicking the latch shut with a quiet thud that sent shivers up Sara's spine.

"Correct. What was the C.O.D?"

"Your mother suffered from pulmonary heart disease, which led to C.H.F."

"Congestive heart failure."

"Arrangements?" Sara handed the M.E. a business card, with the name of a funeral home on it.

"They'll be here within the hour to transport the body."

"We have grief counselors on staff if-"

"No, thanks." Sara let her gaze wander to the cooler that held her mother. "I said goodbye years ago."

………

An hour later found them in a hotel room a short drive from Sara's brother's house. Greg had figured Sara had had enough trauma for one day, and was relieved when she had agreed to call it a night. Now they sat, Greg propped up against the headboard, Sara laying on her stomach pretending to watch the weather report beside him.

"Your mom has an unusual middle name."

"It's Persian. Means 'princess.' She picked it up when they were in Tajikistan. It's where they got my name. Long story." He nodded, not wanting to pry further. He remembered her mentioning her parents making their way to central Asia for the Afghan hash in the 60s when they had a case dealing with different kinds of opiates a few years back. She glanced at him, offering him a weak smile. "More exotic than 'Jane,' which is what it was."

"Are you alright?" He shut the file, and frowned at the tension that riddled her frame.

"Of course I'm alright. I'm fine. I used to work in a coroner's office, Greg, I can handle dead bodies." He watched her bite her lip, and flick the channel to a Spanish soap opera, then back to the weather quickly.

"Yeah but your mom has never been the dead body before."

"She was always a dead body, Greg. The only difference was that she was still breathing." She rolled over onto her back, and held out a hand silently. Greg picked one of the pillows out of the bedding and tossed it to her, rubbing at his eye as she propped her head up to face him from the end of the bed. "You must think I'm a horrible person."

"You aren't. I know you aren't." He gave her a faint smile. "My grandfather used to tell me 'we all have our crosses to bear.' I think sometimes they just get too heavy for one person, no matter how strong you are." He smiled kindly at her, rubbing his eye and shoving a hand tiredly into the front pocket of his hoodie, yawning childishly.

"Thank you, Greg." The sincerity in her soft alto timbre caught his attention, and he nodded, sobering.

This used to be their life.

Casual intimacy in companionship. A brand of codependency that had sewn them together. Apparently their stitches were made of some sort of cheap Velcro. They used to be happy. Loving. Greg frowned, shaking his head only just, dismissing the expression of compassion and concern she was giving him. He wasn't going to bother trying to resurrect whatever shards of passion or love that may still hang between them. The last thing he wanted to do was talk about his lingering feelings, he'd rather just consider them a wretched disease and look like he had moved on. Greg smiled softly, almost succeeding in biting back a laugh.

Loving Sara was a disease.

This whole defense mechanism thing was not working for him.

"What's funny?"

"Nothing." The space between them turned awkward sharply, and Greg shrugged, tired of having to remind himself that she didn't love him anymore. Maybe she never did. Maybe he was the only one who thought they were happy. He glanced at her left hand, pale skin meeting his gaze in lieu of the sparkling diamond he had put there a few months before everything fell apart. It didn't really sparkle anymore, currently taking up residence in a shoebox along with the rest of the memoirs he had of their other life. He climbed off the bed, pausing to press a chaste kiss to her cheek before moving towards the bathroom without a word. He needed a shower, but mostly he needed to put some space between them before he died all over again.

Maybe this wasn't a good idea after all.

Greg turned on the water, letting out a heavy breath as the firm spray erupted from the showerhead. The hot water reddened his skin as he stepped under it, but he preferred the prickle of the burn on his epidermis, it dulled the ache in his heart.

Twenty minutes later, he emerged quietly to find Sara had already climbed into bed, no doubt exhausted from the day's events. The scene laid out before him caused his vision to blur instantly, the sharp burning in his chest bringing tears to his eyes. He had spent the last year trying to erase the image of Sara sleeping peacefully from his mind, and, here it was, staring back at him like nothing had ever changed.

If only.

Silently he pulled back the covers on the other bed, and climbed into the cool sheets. He had made the decision yesterday to tread lightly along the lines of human contact; for fear that he would start to need her more than she needed him. His heart couldn't take the obliteration all over again. He lay back, taking comfort in the soft sounds of Sara's muffled breathing across the room. He was in over his head, but it was up to him to keep it to himself. Slowly, he drifted off to sleep.

"Greg."

There was a scared, insecure timbre in her voice that he instantly recognized as the 'little girl' voice he had heard only once before. Greg rolled over onto his back, turning his head to the side, towards the sound of her voice.

"I'm right here." His voice was hoarse with slumber, and he rubbed at his eyes tiredly, pushing a few wavy curls out of his eyes. Her slight figure was silhouetted against the soft glow of the street below, sitting up in bed, a hand out where she had been feeling the sheets for him. She sniffled childishly, wiping her eyes in a broad sweeping movement he recognized as a variation of his own mannerism. He made no effort to go to her, instead he shifted, making space for her beside him, and holding up the covers invitingly, resting his head against the heel of his palm.

"Gregory-" He heard the beginning of an explanation, or excuse, he'd heard to many to differentiate. He dropped the blankets, running a hand through his hair roughly, and tossed her his greatest 'I know best' expression.

"Come here, then."

He tried to stifle a smile as she threw back her covers and crawled into bed beside him, reminding himself that Sara was no longer his to love. He waited for her to settle in, laying her head on the pillow where his had just been, before he draped the blankets around them both. He reached around her, and pressed a soothing kiss to her temple before withdrawing, not wanting to rob her of the comfort he knew she needed. He began to roll over, away from her, but the brush of her fingertips against his arm turned him back. Greg let the old ghosts take over, and he wrapped an arm securely around her waist, pulling her against him, snuggling into her shoulder like he used to, in their other life.

In their other life, he slept well.

They had had a good run, Greg had thought, especially after she had agreed to marry him, and had started to wear the sparkly diamond at work, that they would be able to love each other indefinitely.

Then Walter Gordon ruined everything.

It wasn't that Greg wasn't thankful that they were able to save Nick, he was. He loved Nick, obviously not, however, like Sara loved him. Maybe he should have seen that coming. Why would she have stayed with him when she could have Nick? In the months that had followed Nick's release from the hospital, into Sara's care, Greg had urged her to make Nick a priority, everyone had been so worried about him. It had been the logical thing to do. Nick trusted Sara, and Sara; well, Sara never did anything half-ass. Taking care of Nick was, of course, no exception. Nick had recovered, thankfully, but it had cost Greg dearly.

They fizzled more than anything. No yelling, no broken vases on the floor with stale water bleeding down the walls. Right about the time Nick came back to work, Sara had taken the diamond off her finger, and his heart shattered along with the promise of their engagement. Right about the time he began to see the mortar harden behind her eyes.

Greg pressed a whisper of a kiss to her shoulder, and slowly rolled away from her, leaving just enough distance between them to keep his sanity intact, finally allowing the rhythmic, familiar sound of Sara's breathing to lull him to sleep. They would battle Sara's demons tomorrow. For now, he was going to forget about the year's worth of bricks that kept them apart.

They had developed a wordless dialogue in their years together, both in the field and out of it. Half sentences mixed with half smiles. He felt Sara relax against him in her sleep, closing the distance he had made. He surrendered, pulling her close again, like he used to, in their other life.

At least the conversation remained, even if the love had evaporated.

………

A/N: So sorry this took three months… real life got in the way. Going to have to stretch this to a five-parter I think. It's getting dark, and sad. Totally different than the happy fluff I usually write. I love the fluff, but this is a challenge. I love a challenge.


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